


Focus (On Me)

by Verbrennung



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Seijou!Ushijima, Ushijima is a 1st year, and crowding, and looming, lots of staring, rated for ~makin' out~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 18:23:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20012788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbrennung/pseuds/Verbrennung
Summary: Nobody had foreseen future Super Ace Ushijima Wakatoshi transferring from Shiratorizawa to Aoba Johsai for high school. Everyone's curious to know why, and as Iwaizumi discovers, some of his reasons are... unexpected.An AU in which everything is mostly the same except Ushijima is a first year at Aoba Johsai and has a huge, looming crush on Iwaizumi.





	Focus (On Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [northly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/northly/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Посмотри (на меня)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22119400) by [omao](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omao/pseuds/omao)



> For [North](https://twitter.com/nrothly), a true Iwasexual™. A small thanks for all the wonderful art you create!!
> 
> the prompt was (paraphrased):  
>  _younger ushi developing a crush on older iwa after seeing him play_  
>  _first year ushi being the same height as third year iwa_  
>  _unintentional kabedons_

A shadow falls over him where he’s crouched, retying the laces of his volleyball shoes. It’s predictably followed by--

“Iwaizumi-san.”

This is a somewhat common occurrence in his life now, though he would have never expected it.

Iwaizumi ignores the hairs that inexplicably raise at the back of his neck and swallows.

“Ushijima,” he greets as he turns his head. The next words due to come out of his mouth – something to the extent of _what’s up_ – promptly stall somewhere over his tongue as he registers the looming form behind him, standing so close that the toe of his sneaker is almost touching the heel of Iwaizumi’s own.

No sense of personal space. Iwaizumi’s throat goes dry but he ignores it, instead pushing himself up to his full height and more importantly, taking a couple of steps back to create a little more room between them.

Olive eyes bore into him with intensity. Iwaizumi isn’t _short_ by any means - he’s above average in the general school population even, but volleyball tends to attract freaks of nature. Case in point: Aoba Johsai first year Ushijima Wakatoshi is already the same height as him, with large hands and thick limbs, and Iwaizumi knows he will only continue to grow throughout high school. He’ll be a towering figure that inspires fear in his opponents by the time his final year comes around.

Iwaizumi had been peripherally aware of Ushijima before this year, in the way that rumors and information from the junior high volleyball scene trickle their way into the high school one. However, Iwaizumi had ignored the vague feeling of foreboding that came with being a new ace hearing word of a super talent soon to enter his arena. Ultimately, he was more concerned with adjusting to the jersey number and title entrusted to him towards the end of his second year once the senpai had left – he’s always been the type to look ahead and only tackle problems if and when they come his way.

Aoba Johsai had a good showing in that Spring tournament, with Oikawa finally taking the helm of Captain to go along with the position of starting setter he’d already laid claim to in his second year. The team he’d been molding behind the scenes started to finally take shape – they may not have won the tournament, but after throwing a fit initially, even Oikawa had to admit their performance was a good indication for the future.

Nobody had foreseen future Super Ace Ushijima transferring from Shiratorizawa to Aoba Johsai for high school. The Japanese volleyball world is pretty small, and was entirely rocked by the news when it broke. Volleyball Monthly magazine reported on the story extensively and Irihata-sensei’s phone was ringing off the hook for a week straight.

Most of the team had been blank with surprise, not really comprehending why the secret weapon of their bitterest rival would switch sides with no fanfare.

Oikawa had been the most suspicious, basically ignoring the other two first years during that initial practice as he set his hands on his hips and strode forward to stand nose-to-nose with Ushijima, demanding a reason for the switch.

Ushijima hadn’t even blinked, not all worried by the heat or pressure of Oikawa’s inquisition, standing tall and easy even with his new senpai and Captain in his face. _I like your set-up and tosses, Oikawa-san_ , Ushijima had said, and Iwaizumi didn’t need to see Oikawa’s face to know he was starting to preen. But then Ushijima continued: _Aoba Johsai is good, but you need me to be great_.

Even despite his own irritation Iwaizumi had moved without thinking, taking a few quick steps forward to take Oikawa by the shoulder and pull him back before he ripped Ushijima’s head off.

It was a kind of shitty thing for Ushijima to say - a backhanded compliment to his new team and senpai - but there was nothing about his delivery that suggested he’d purposefully said it to piss them off.

_Oh no,_ Iwaizumi had thought, _this guy has absolutely no tact_ . That was a recipe for disaster, especially in _this_ team.

Unfortunately for them, Ushijima hasn’t really learned any better in the time since then, but then again Iwaizumi doesn’t think he ever will. He’s the straightforward type, which Iwaizumi ultimately appreciates, though at times his choice of words can be infuriating. The rest of them are learning to adjust to it - or more commonly, ignore it. Luckily the rumors had been true: Ushijima is a _damn_ good player already, which makes his atrocious social etiquette ultimately bearable.

For some reason though, Iwaizumi attracts the favor of the more troublesome kouhai. Kyoutani may not be around right _now,_ but he’ll be coming back soon enough and bringing all his irrational challenges with him. Until then, Ushijima keeps him more than occupied. 

“That final attack,” Ushijima says now, “was very good.”

Iwaizumi stands up and waits for a beat, and then realizes nothing more is coming.

“…Thanks, Ushijima,” he says, unsure whether he should sigh or laugh. Almost every interaction with his new kouhai is similarly bemusing.

Ushijima doesn’t walk away though, instead staying where he is. Iwaizumi cocks his head to the side.

“There something else you need?”

Ushijima’s arms are hanging by his sides, so Iwaizumi catches it when he curls the fingers of his left hand into a loose fist. There’s no other physical indication of any hesitation – for someone so young Ushijima seems so in control of himself, always calm and steady.

“You and Oikawa-san trust each other very much.” Again, it’s not a question, and lacks any particular inflection that could give Iwaizumi a clue as to what Ushijima is getting at. “ _Aun no kokyuu_ ,” Ushijima says then, as if he’s repeating something he’s heard before.

Ah, Iwaizumi thinks. So it’s an Oikawa thing.

The disdain Oikawa has for a _brat_ like Ushijima is as in your face as everything else about Oikawa, but beneath that there’s a shared respect between the two. Begrudging on Oikawa’s end, because as infuriating as he finds Ushijima, he cannot deny the skill that is yet to even be fully realized. Ushijima on the other hand might be more stoic, but he holds Oikawa in high esteem. He might not crowd him and shower him with compliments or requests for special attention like some of the other underclassmen, but his respect is clear in the way he defers to him as Captain and Setter; in the way he’ll ready his stance and watch him almost impatiently during practice, waiting for and _willing_ a toss to come his way.

Iwaizumi knows that Ushijima isn’t the type to acknowledge someone easily. Maybe it’s hard for him that a senpai he looks up to so staunchly refuses to acknowledge him in return. (Iwaizumi _also_ knows Oikawa is fully aware of that, and will only bestow it upon him when it’s truly deserved. He’s leaving Ushijima to use that mild frustration to propel forward, in the way only someone like Oikawa could think to.)

Is this the pride and jealousy of a spiker, then? Iwaizumi isn’t stupid - he might not be the fiercest spiker out there, but he has the respect and trust of Oikawa Tooru, and that’s no small feat. Oikawa might come up with the plans, but he trusts Iwaizumi to complete them.

“Ah, never mind that. It’s just something people say to sound dramatic. We’ve just been friends and teammates for a long time,” he says, resting his hands on his hips, “so I guess we know each other pretty well by now.”

Ushijima’s face barely changes, but Iwaizumi thinks he might see a little more interest somewhere in his expression.

“You were childhood friends?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “From the very beginning, yeah. Unfortunately.” He doesn’t _really_ mean that last bit (not all the time, anyway).

Ushijima turns his head, and when Iwaizumi follows his gaze he finds Oikawa animatedly chatting to Watari a little ways away.

“I see,” Ushijima says, and then walks away.

And that’s that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“ – he’s hounding you!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t bother to reply as he pulls off his shorts. The locker beside his clangs shut and when he finally deigns to turn to the side, Oikawa is looking at him with something between a frown and a pout.

“What are you talking about?” he relents with a sigh at the insistent look in the other’s eyes.

Although it’s pretty obvious. It could only be Oikawa’s current favorite topic of conversation (or more accurately, complaint) - Ushijima.

Iwaizumi folds his shorts and lays them over the school uniform already stowed inside his training bag.

Oikawa lets out a frustrated sigh. “Iwa-chan, he’s always talking to you!”

“…Oikawa, he said like three sentences to me today.”

“Exactly! That’s basically his whole day’s quota for speech!”

“You know he’s a regular human, right?” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and pulls on his white track pants ready for the walk home. “Besides, hounding _me_? You’re the one he wants to make acknowledge him.”

There’s silence that lasts until Iwaizumi has slipped his arms through the sleeves of his VBC jacket and zipped it right to the top. A little unsettled, he turns to seek Oikawa out again.

He’s sitting on one of the chairs he stole from the neighboring clubroom last year, his expression markedly more serious and…. Maybe a little concerned?

“You really don’t notice?” he asks, and Iwaizumi frowns as he shuts his own locker and shoulders his bag.

“Notice what?”

“Iwa-chan… He watches you all the time. He - _hovers._ Not close, but at any given time I can almost bet he’s standing closer to you than anyone else when we’re in the gym!”

“Hah? Isn’t that your imagination?” he tries to scan back through his memories of practice, and he guesses Ushijima did talk to him a little as usual… but is it really so weird? “And besides, who can blame him? His Captain is a total babyjerk to him, after all.”

“Babyjerk?! What the hell is that?”

Iwaizumi snorts and kicks at the side of Oikawa’s sneaker – an order to stand up so they can lock up and walk home already.

Oikawa scrambles to do so, shouldering his own bag as they move towards the door. “I still think it’s weird. It’s like the thing with Kyoutani, except Kyouken-chan is so simple-minded that it’s easy to understand what’s going on in that head of his.”

“Shut the hell up, Trashy—”

He doesn’t finish, because when he swings the door open Ushijima is waiting a few steps from the clubroom entrance, clad in an identical tracksuit with his own bag on his shoulder.

Oikawa makes a squeaking noise as if to say _this is what I’m talking about!!_ but Iwaizumi ignores him – partly because he’s gotten good at that, and partly because those eyes are focused on him again.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima says, right before a dramatic breeze sweeps through and tussles his brown hair. Those eyes slide to Iwaizumi’s right, “and Oikawa-san. See you tomorrow.”

There’s none of the usual manners expected of a kouhai to his senpai – no _thanks for your hard work_ , no bow; just a nod and then Ushijima is turning to walk out of the gates ahead of them.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi stand there for a few seconds in silence.

“I hate him,” Oikawa whispers furiously and Iwaizumi just laughs, nudging him roughly before he sets out to leave the school grounds, too.

Later that night, Iwaizumi wonders to himself just why Ushijima waited.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Iwa-chan might be willing to brush it off, but in the weeks that pass Oikawa only continues to observe. 

There’s nothing _overtly_ sinister about Ushijima. He keeps to himself mostly, until they start a practice game and all his intensity pours out onto the court. But still, there’s _something_ there Oikawa can’t grasp, like an object lingering in the corner of his vision that disappears when he turns and tries to focus on it.

Iwaizumi was on the opposing team for the game at the end of today’s practice, so that Yahaba could get some practice tossing to him. And even though his team lost (ha!), Iwa-chan is the picture of good sportsmanship and crosses under the net to congratulate them.

“Nice game,” he tells them with a smile, and Oikawa grins at him with teeth because he’s competitive to the core and he just _won._

Iwa-chan huffs, his lack of real annoyance a sign of a fun game well-played, before he turns to Ushijima at Oikawa’s side.

“Oikawa already adjusted to you because he’s a weirdo like that,” Oikawa’s draw drops in indignation, but Iwa-chan’s attention stays on Ushijima, “but looks it like you’re adjusting to him too, Ushijima. The power on that last hit was no joke.”

Oikawa glances to the side to see that the straight line of Ushijima’s mouth doesn’t change, but there’s a light to his eyes as he looks at Iwaizumi and nods at the comment. Oikawa tilts his head as he watches.

… Pride? Smugness? Victory? Gratitude?

Iwaizumi walks off to help Kindaichi take down and fold the net, and with him gone Oikawa lets his hand descend onto Ushijima’s shoulder before the boy can walk away.

“I’m watching you,” he says. It’s a warning, even if he has no idea what for.

Well, whatever it is –

“You’re a million years too early for him, Ushiwaka-chan,” he sing-songs, withdrawing his hand so he can use it to draw down his lower eyelid as he sticks his tongue out. “Stupid! Stupid Ushiwaka~!”

His childish taunting towards Ushijima has become so commonplace that most of the club barely reacts, but Oikawa can definitely feel Iwaizumi’s gaze on the side of his face. He ignores it as he turns and walks normally to the ball cart, humming a jolly tune under his breath as he thinks.

There’s something going on in Ushijima’s head that he can’t figure out, and Oikawa Tooru _hates_ not knowing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Their first tournament comes quickly after the beginning of the new school year, but despite the short amount of time, three first years manage to take regular spots on the team. Iwaizumi feels a little bad for Kindaichi and Kunimi, because there’s no doubt Ushijima is stealing all the attention in Miyagi Prefectural Gymnasium right now.

Iwaizumi would be worried about Oikawa’s reaction to that, but it seems it’s pointless. Even if the usual gaggle of girls (generally from other schools and thus oblivious to his true personality) weren’t hovering close by waiting for Oikawa to look their way, Oikawa’s still soaking up all the attention Ushijima garners for their team as if it’s his own. He leads the team into the building with his spine straight and shoulders back, a picture of pride and confidence.

The sight of Ushijima in the unmistakable white-and-turquoise of Aoba Johsai VBC is drawing stares and whispers from everyone they pass, as if no one had dared believe it up until the moment they saw it with their own eyes. Iwaizumi can relate.

He can’t deny that Ushijima’s presence adds a level of intensity and – dare he say it – aura of danger to Seijou that they never quite had before.

There’s no doubt that Iwaizumi is still the Ace, but he’s not so sure that will last the whole year.

He still doesn’t know what he thinks about that.

That’s nothing to worry about right now, though. Iwaizumi follows the group as Oikawa leads them to their usual camping spot – the dead end of a mostly unused corridor, spacious and with a large window that lets them bask in the warm, natural light of the sun.

“—so don’t go telling your old team-mates about this spot, Ushiwaka!” Oikawa snootily declares once they’ve dropped their bags. “I’m going to go with sensei, make sure you all start stretching soon!”

Oikawa _radiates_ busybody energy in the hours before a tournament, so once he prances off the group gradually relaxes. Hanamaki and Matsukawa almost immediately slink off, ostensibly to get drinks but more likely to loom over younger members of other teams in an unnecessary and fairly mean-spirited attempt at intimidation. Kindaichi wanders off to the toilet with Kunimi, and Yahaba and Watari talk amongst themselves quietly.

Iwaizumi would normally be content to do his own thing and quietly get himself into the competition headspace, but lately thanks to Oikawa’s scrutiny he’s become hyperaware of Ushijima at _all_ times. It’s hard to relax when said person is sat right next to him, so he figures he’ll just bite the bullet and engage.

“You’re getting a lot of attention today,” he says, glancing at his kouhai.

“Hm?” Ushijima asks, opening his eyes. Apparently he’s totally relaxed, sitting against the wall with his hands in his pockets. “Yes.”

He’s so to the point.

“Is it bothering you?”

Ushijima blinks at him. His eyes catch the sunlight and it lights them up gold and green.

“I’m not affected by insignificant things like that,” he tells Iwaizumi, and it’s the older boy’s turn to blink.

Then he smiles and shakes his head. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t be. Have you spoken to anyone from Shiratorizawa?”

“No, I think they were upset by my transfer. I told them, but I don’t think they believed me until the year began. I received some angry messages over the spring vacation and through April.”

Iwaizumi can understand their reaction, since he doesn’t really get it either.

“Why did you do it, anyhow?”

Oikawa had asked that very first day, and though they’ve all speculated since, no one else has asked Ushijima outright. Iwaizumi can’t abate his own curiosity any longer.

Ushijima hums, and it wavers without his permission in the same slight way his words do sometimes, like his voice still can’t quite decide what pitch it wants to settle at yet.

“Oikawa-san didn’t come to Shiratorizawa,” Ushijima tells him, blunt. “I didn’t want his ability as a setter to go to waste.”

Iwaizumi feels his chest heat and he rounds on Ushijima with a clenched fist. “Is that a dig at me?”

All he gets in return is one of those infuriatingly steady stares.

“No,” Ushijima responds, the slightest lilt of a question at the end, like he can’t understand why Iwaizumi would see it that way.

There’s no way Iwaizumi can keep up his anger when there’s no ill will in Ushijima’s words, so he deflates and nods. “So it _was_ Oikawa then.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

Surprised and intrigued, Iwaizumi lifts his gaze back to Ushijima, who as always is already looking at him.

“Shiratorizawa is as it has always been. They always win, and they always have a strong Ace. I fit into that role and my place at the head was already guaranteed,” Iwaizumi feels his eyebrow uptick at the unflappable confidence in those words, but keeps quiet. “But it would be no different to every year. After me, another would come to fill the same role, just like all those that came before me.”

Huh, Iwaizumi hadn’t thought about it like that all.

“So you...” he starts, brow creasing before he lets out a disbelieving huff, “you didn’t go because you didn’t feel special enough??”

Ushijima doesn’t react, his face a picture of blankness. After a moment:

“I like volleyball well enough, but I think at Shiratorizawa it would perhaps... cease to be as interesting.”

He wanted volleyball to be interesting? 

In other words, Ushijima just wanted volleyball to be... fun?

“I watched Aoba Johsai in the Spring qualifiers. Oikawa’s tosses were as expected, but the set-up of the team... He orchestrates, but he also lets the spikers lead when appropriate. Shiratorizawa is a place where strong players are collected and put together. But seeing your games, I felt that Aoba Johsai is a place where a _team_ is cultivated.”

Ushijima looks down at his lap, curling the fingers of both hands into his palms.

With dawning understanding, Iwaizumi grins and lays a companionable hand at the base of Ushijima’s neck without thinking. There’s always been an aspect of his personality that could be classified as nurturing, and he’s growing more comfortable with that part of himself as he compensates for Oikawa’s at-times difficult captaincy style. 

“The team with the _better six_ is stronger,” he tells him, agreement and understanding wrapped up in his own personal philosophy - the one that has become the team’s, too.

When Ushijima flicks his gaze Iwaizumi’s way, his eyes are impossibly bright. There’s strength there, even if there’s something shaky about the way they shine – it matches the trembling of his body under Iwaizumi’s hand. It happens for such an impossibly short time that Iwaizumi almost thinks he imagined it completely.

“I will make this team the strongest it has ever been,” Ushijima vows.

Iwaizumi doesn’t doubt him for a second.

During the match against Johzenji, Iwaizumi tweaks his wrist. It’s stupid really – he didn’t really need to try so hard to make that receive with the points difference they had already, but he’d wanted to get the match done with sooner rather than later. It’s not a huge deal, no serious injury, but it’s enough to garner a _look_ from Oikawa and a frown from Irihata-sensei, so he separates from the gaggle of his team-mates after their victory to see if he can find a wrist support.

There’s one in their emergency first aid bag, and it’s just as he pulls it out and stretches back up to stand that he hears footsteps behind him.

When he turns he sees it’s Ushijima approaching, his young face seemingly neutral as always and yet, when he draws closer, Iwaizumi sees his expression is laced with an intensity that is matched by his stride.

“Iwaizumi,” he says, and Iwaizumi has half a second to notice the dropped honorific before he realizes Ushijima _isn’t stopping_.

No concept of personal space as always, but this is the first time it’s made Iwaizumi markedly nervous. He stumbles back the half-a-step of space he has left between himself and the wall but Ushijima follows, looming over him and crowding him into it.

“Your wrist,” he says, eyes dark with a laser-like focus.

Despite the terrifying ferocity of his spikes on the court, Ushijima’s left hand is warm and gentle as it cradles Iwaizumi’s tender wrist. It’s instinct to cringe and try to pull away but Ushijima doesn’t relent, carefully raising it up so he can examine the redness.

“That was a reckless receive. Your form was terrible.”

Iwaizumi bares his teeth, but doesn’t dare to pull away lest he jar his wrist further. “I saved the point,” he snaps. “Besides, who are you to scold a senpai?”

Ushijima blinks at him.

“I am a member of this team,” he says calmly. 

Yes, Iwaizumi thinks wildly, looking down at the turquoise jersey the other is wearing that matches his own. He certainly is. 

“We cannot have our Ace so recklessly injure himself.”

That’s the first time Ushijima has ever verbally acknowledged Iwaizumi’s status as the Ace; as someone ranked above him within the team. Iwaizumi isn’t sure if that’s been a conscious thing on the other’s part, but it doesn’t stop the way his heart starts beating wildly at hearing the words.

Ushijima raises Iwaizumi’s wrist a little higher until it’s level with the Ace’s cheek, and then his thumb gently presses on the inside, followed by the same light pressure from his other fingertips on the other side. He’s checking for swelling, maybe, but his eyes don’t leave Iwaizumi’s. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t think Ushijima is aware he’s leaning closer, pushing forward so that the entire length of Iwaizumi’s spine is now against the wall.

“I didn’t tell you everything before,” Ushijima says, voice quiet and intense. “When you asked me why I transferred to Aoba Johsai.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth has long since gone dry, and he swallows in a futile attempt to moisten it so that his next words don’t sound so strangled, so breathless. “There was another reason?”

“Your figure on the court. I was moved by it.”

And--- _what?_

“You are a good but ultimately unremarkable player,” Ushijima says, and this is the most _intense_ concoction of bemused and furious Iwaizumi has ever felt around him thus far. “People don’t talk about you outside of the context of your relationship with Oikawa and how well you work together.”

Iwaizumi knows that, dammit. He knows he’s a good player, but he knows there’s a glass ceiling he can never break through. Guys who will go until their hearts stop like Oikawa, or terrifying geniuses like Kageyama and the boy in front of him... Those are the people who will reach the top. He’s always known that there will be a time where his journey stops and Oikawa will continue the path without him. But... this damn kid, why--

“And it’s true that’s where your strength lies. Not just in your ability to work with Oikawa, but with everyone. You’d only just received the Ace number in that tournament, and yet already the team rallied around you. Oikawa shines, leading from the front, but you push him and the rest of them from behind. You are acknowledged and respected, but you don’t demand attention. I thought that perhaps, more than the cannon Shiratorizawa prizes, this is what an Ace should be.”

Ushijima is so close that it almost makes Iwaizumi’s eyes water; he blinks to try and get rid of the feeling. This intensity, this regard... He doesn’t understand it. He’s blindsided. Blood rushes around his body and his heartbeat throbs in his throat and ears.

“I want to understand people the way you do, Iwaizumi. And be understood in return. I want to be the Ace in a _team_.”

He parts his lips to speak, but honestly, his mind is so blank that he has nothing.

“You are the person I respect the most in volleyball. I want to learn from you. I want to make your team great and then make it _mine_.” Ushijima’s eyes are sharper than Iwaizumi has ever seen them, and when Hajime tracks his eyes down he notices the slash of a sharp grin on the younger boy’s face, as if he can barely contain his excitement. His grip on Iwaizumi’s wrist has tightened, but Iwaizumi doesn’t feel any pain because the rapid beating of his heart has long since made him feel numb.

“I want to show you the grandest stage in volleyball,” Ushijima confesses, his usually-steady tone shaking with emotion. The toes of his sneakers bump against Iwaizumi’s; the movement causing the soles to squeak against the floor in the quiet hallway. “I want to take you there.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say, breathless in the face of this tightly-contained secret now unleashed between them; this terrifying intensity.

Ushijima lowers Iwaizumi’s wrist, back to being so completely gentle, and takes the support from his other hand. Iwaizumi can barely hold his arm suspended long enough for his kouhai to slip it on carefully.

“So you must not endanger yourself before then, _senpai._ Please care for your wrist properly.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Iwaizumi confused and sweating in the hallway.

There’s a competition going on, so Iwaizumi can’t exactly do anything in response to that bizarre episode. All he can do is calm himself down and be a little more mindful from now on. Not that he thinks there is a right course of action to take after... whatever that was. 

Ushijima is his usual self when Iwaizumi rejoins the team, so he thinks they’re just going to move on from it.

Fortunately for Iwaizumi’s wrist and his fuddled mind Seijou is done for the day, though they stick around to watch the final game from the stands. It’s Datekou playing, and their decision to stay and Oikawa’s intense observation is proved worthwhile when the team advances to the following day, making them their next opponents.

“That no-brows kid is even taller than last year,” Hanamaki comments as they file out of the hall and into the lobby. “He’s gonna be trouble tomorrow, huh?”

“Mm,” Mattsun agrees, Iwaizumi nodding along beside him. “That loud-mouth is the most annoying, though.”

Oikawa looks at them over his shoulder and sneers – he and that Datekou brunette have a history of trading taunts and barbs across the net. Iwaizumi huffs and shoves his hands in his pockets, knowing that sometimes he just has to let Oikawa vent that vindictiveness lest he actually explode.

And then sound seems to dim around them. When Iwaizumi looks up, he sees why.

Ahead of them is a gathering of white and purple. Matsukawa whistles lowly and Iwaizumi feels himself tense.

It’s the first time Seijou and Shiratorizawa have crossed paths this year. More significantly, it’s the first time they’ve met face to face since Ushijima switched sides. Iwaizumi casts a glance to the younger player, but he looks unruffled as always.

Oikawa’s shoulders are squared and his steps don’t falter, so they all continue walking until the rival team blocks their path out of the building. Iwaizumi keenly feels all the attention directed their way - it seems everyone has been waiting for this.

“Aa~ah!” Someone loudly exclaims. It draws Iwaizumi’s gaze and he sees a lanky kid with an unusual face and a crop of bright red hair push his way to the front of the group, hunching over as if trying to stretch into their personal space. “If it isn’t the traitor Wakatoshi-kun!”

Iwaizumi can’t tell if it’s mean-spirited or not. He doesn’t know the player, so he must be a first year like Ushijima.

“As expected, that color doesn’t suit you at _all_!”

Ushijima is composed as always, but Iwaizumi is both surprised and happy to see the way Kunimi and Kindaichi, Ushijima’s fellow first years, instinctively close ranks at his sides. In fact, he notices the entire team unconsciously shift around him in anticipation. 

It makes him feel glad. Proud, even.

“The great Shiratorizawa Academy, being sore losers?” Oikawa responds, his arms spread wide and with - probably, Iwaizumi can’t see from this angle - the shittiest smile on his face. Iwaizumi can tell by his tone that he’s _loving_ this already and it makes him want to laugh. “Who would have thought it?”

The Shiratorizawa redhead’s expression sours, but as he opens his mouth to respond, Oikawa lets out a loud – “ha!”, effectively cutting him off with his snootiness. His arms drop, and Iwaizumi watches from behind as his head drops to one side, stupid fluffy hair bouncing with the movement. He can picture the exact expression the other must be wearing now.

“Sorry, but _my_ team doesn’t have time for you right now, so _byeeee_!!”

On that cue, the rest of the team follow Oikawa in moving around the group and out the door.

It’s not surprising, Oikawa’s reaction. Sure, he could happily go for a few more barbs if not a full-blown catfight, but ‘rising above it’ is the course of action that is likely to infuriate the Shiratorizawa team the most. His decision to do exactly that (and so gleefully) is still so completely Oikawa in its pettiness.

As they near their parked bus, Iwaizumi watches Oikawa sling an arm around an unwilling Ushijima’s shoulder as he chirps on, no doubt spurred on by his perceived victory. Matsukawa and Hanamaki join in to tease on the kouhai’s other side, the first and second years following the group close behind. 

Despite the initial mismatch between him and the rest of them, the team are already starting to gather around Ushijima. 

Simply wearing the same uniform doesn’t make Ushijima one of them, but things like this do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The first time the foreboding arms of Dateko’s front line stretch up to create a wall that mercilessly blocks his spike, Ushijima grins. 

When the second set comes around, he smashes through with sheer brute force. Iwaizumi is the one who scores the game-winning point a little while later, but even that doesn’t match the thrill of watching Ushijima’s potential begin to truly bloom before his very eyes. Dateko don’t stand a chance, the vines of Seijou winding around each other, stretching upwards and pushing through the cracks in the Iron Wall until it crumbles.

  
  
  


Before he knows it, it’s the final - the time for them to play Shiratorizawa has come at last. Their rival’s third-year Ace is strong, but the space they’d made for Ushijima before his shock transfer still hasn’t been filled and not even their high-calibre defense can make up for it. 

As for Oikawa - Hajime has never seen him like this before. The victory he’s chased for so long is almost in his grasp and he _knows_ it. The intensity of his focus is palpable, but instead of being a weight on the team’s shoulders, it pulls them all into his rhythm. In the third set, the setter is _pouring_ with sweat - as they all are - and his fingers must be hurting by now with how long some of the rallies are going. 

But then it clicks. The fluidity Seijou started to gain when the previous third years retired finally takes Ushijima into its current, accepting him into the flow of Oikawa’s setup, which suddenly boasts something no other team in high school volleyball can hope to match: Oikawa has Iwaizumi on his left as he always has, but now… now he also has _Ushijima_ on his right.

At the end of that set, Iwaizumi glances to Irihata on the sidelines. He’s relaxed a little more on the bench, and when he catches Hajime’s eyes he nods a little, one side of his mouth upticking the slightest bit. Then Iwaizumi looks over to Oikawa, and the fire in his eyes has flickers of excitement in it now, further fanning the flames.

It’s then that Iwaizumi knows that it’s theirs for the taking.

When they finally win their third set and secure their victory, the entire team yells right along with their cheer section above them. It just adds to the roar in Hajime’s ears until it’s so loud that all sound fades out entirely, and it’s all he can do to seek out Oikawa. His setter, captain and best friend launches himself at him and they tumble to the floor in a mess of limbs and laughter.

Iwaizumi looks up through the sweat and the blinding gymnasium lights and sees Ushijima above him. The younger boy isn’t much of a _smiler,_ but there’s a small curve to his lips and a proud light in his eyes that seems to say _I promised I’d take you there._ Iwaizumi grins at him and accepts Matsukawa’s hand to pull him up into yet another crushing hug.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  


It doesn’t feel real. Life during the stagnant period of rest between the prefectural final and Nationals feels like existing within a dream. It’s a lot of waiting around in the wings to step onto the stage he’d always aimed for, but never quite believed with all certainty that he’d ever make it to.

There’s something equal parts endearing and insufferable about an Oikawa Tooru who has _finally_ made it happen, who has crushed the Kings of Shiratorizawa and led his team to Nationals. His laughter bounces around school corridors, classrooms, even the gym, and he preens at the attention and accepts heapings of compliments from classmates and admirers. It makes Iwaizumi’s eye twitch in disdain when he sees the other rub the back of his head and put on his charming facade, but he lets Oikawa have it. No one’s earned it more than him, after all.

Plus, Oikawa’s spike in popularity is actually somewhat of a blessing in disguise. With him being in such high demand, it means he has less time to hang onto Hajime; less time to whine and needle and complain - mostly about Ushijima.

Said kouhai also seems to be experiencing the joys of being a top-tier high school athlete, though he clearly thinks a lot less of his new-found infamy than his Captain. It seems he’s given his admirers the slip for now though, standing alone by the shoe lockers - though it’s very possible that he has just finally ignored any followers into submission, which is how he’s been handling the problem so far. As much as Hajime would like to see Ushijima in some kind of peril for once, it’s just not gonna happen.

“What’s up, Ushijima?” Iwaizumi finds himself asking, once again being the one to start a conversation under the pressure of that olive-eyed stare as he drops his street shoes to the ground to swap out of his indoor slippers. 

It’s a Monday, which blessedly means no volleyball practice. Oikawa’s taking yet another girl on what could be considered a courtesy date, a one-off since he’s too busy _concentrating on volleyball for now, sorry~~_ to pursue a girlfriend. This is relevant information because--

“I thought we could walk home together, Iwaizumi-san. Since Oikawa-san is busy.”

Iwaizumi isn’t sure if he’s supposed to take that as Ushijima offering to keep his lonely ass company since he’s been ditched by his best friend - he certainly hopes not, since he doesn’t need pity. He’d been fully intending on reveling in the peace for as long as possible.

But still, Iwaizumi hasn’t actually ever seen Ushijima walk home with anyone before. He gets along with the team well enough, but he’s not sure what the younger boy’s social life looks like. Does he even have one? Does he care about that stuff?

“Sure,” he says gamely. He’s still a little suspicious around the other after the few odd exchanges they’ve had lately, but he’s always been a sucker for socially-difficult types (see: Oikawa Tooru, as well as Kyoutani - and actually, maybe Hanamaki and--)

Grabbing his bag, Iwaizumi drapes it over his shoulder and walks out of the building side-by-side with Ushijima. Nothing more is said as they clear the gates, and Hajime finds himself glancing towards the other out of the corner of his eye. Ushijima looks ahead as he walks, nothing in his expression to give away his thoughts as per usual.

Iwaizumi doesn’t actually live too far from school, though he does have to pass the train station Ushijima catches the train from, his transfer to Aoba Johsai surely making his daily commute at least twice as long.

Ushijima slows to a stop at the plaza before the station, and it’s only then that he turns to focus his attention on Hajime.

“Iwaizumi-san,” he says, and something about his tone sounds even more serious than usual. 

Iwaizumi feels his brows hike up in curiosity. So he _does_ want something after all.

Olive eyes bore down into him as an express train on the tracks behind them rumbles through the station without stopping. Pinned under that stare, Iwaizumi wonders what’s coming next - a request for advice about dealing with Oikawa? A question about volleyball? The declaration he’s taking the Ace spot for himself, finally?

“Please go out with me.”

  


_What._

  
  
  


The rest, admittedly, is a bit of a blur. Hajime remembers a few panicked seconds of floundering in the face of the abrupt confession, Ushijima calmly informing him he’d give him time to consider the proposal before turning around and heading into the station without another word.

Had it been anyone else, Iwaizumi would harbor at least some suspicions about this being a prank or something else equally cruel, but this is _Ushijima_. He’s just not the type, which ultimately leads to only one conclusion:

He’s for real.

  
  
  


Hours later, Hajime is lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. It’s all completely bizarre, and yet-- And yet, when he thinks back through every strange encounter with Ushijima, it starts to make sense. 

The ‘hounding’ (as Oikawa had called it) was really just some hovering, some talking, and a lot of watching. 

Ushijima asking about his and Oikawa’s relationship - god, he was interested in _Iwaizumi,_ not Oikawa, and not in a volleyball-related way like he’d assumed, and how fucking wild is that?

The confession and intensity in the corridor of the City Gymnasium. 

Fuck, Ushijima _likes_ him.

Ushijima genuinely confessed to him. Without thinking, Iwaizumi rests a hand over his heart, which has begun to race all over again at his recollection of the moment. Ushijima had stood in front of him, blocking the sun almost as if placing himself in the centre of Hajime’s orbit.

It makes his head swim with _too much,_ makes his hands clench and his stomach swoop.

  


What the hell is he going to do? 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Nothing much, as it turns out. Hajime has a reputation for being straightforward - it shows in the way he reprimands Kyoutani (and sometimes Yahaba) if they’re too rowdy, and it _definitely_ shows in the way he handles Oikawa. But that… That is born from an inherent sense of comfort; of knowing his best friend in-and-out, in knowing where he stands in the hierarchy of Aoba Johsai VBC and the Japanese schooling system as a whole. This thing with Ushijima--

He has no idea where he stands, no feel for a dynamic, nothing. Hajime thrives within a structure - he’s at his most comfortable when boundaries, roles and relationships are clearly defined. Ushijima Wakatoshi staring him down in the station plaza, calmly confessing and gamely vowing to give him time, is perhaps the most terrifying thing that’s happened to him all year.

So he does nothing, taking advantage of the offer of time to stay the inevitable confrontation and act as normal. 

After all they’re going to _Nationals,_ they can’t afford to be anything but their absolute best. It’s too much of a risk. So they practice and Iwaizumi puts all his effort into acting as normal as possible as he tries to avoid Ushijima without anyone noticing.

Sometimes, he can feel an unintentionally heavy gaze on his back or burning against his cheek. When it happens he ignores it, calling for another toss or initiating meaningless conversation with whoever is closest.

What’s most confusing is that when it’s finally time for the National tournament, it gets _harder_. With so much going on, and so many more people around, shouldn’t it have gotten easier? Surely it should have been more difficult to avoid the situation entirely in their school gym, with only the club around?

Maybe it’s something to do with a home-court advantage.

Maddeningly, Ushijima’s presence seems to increase by at least twofold. People whisper about him as they walk by; journalists ask him for a quick comment about the competition; third years from the best high schools in the country eye him warily from within the safety of a cluster of their own school colours.

Iwaizumi doesn’t mind him stealing the spotlight, much to Oikawa’s chagrin. And not on his own part - predictably, (and annoyingly) Oikawa Tooru’s looks and charms only shine brighter on a larger stage. He’s pulled aside for a comment for this-or-that newspaper or magazine just as often as their first-year cannon, and Iwaizumi actually likes watching him have this muchfun - Oikawa Tooru was made for this. No, Oikawa is mad because-

“But _you’re_ the Ace, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa complains, a sweet, bratty pout twisting his mouth to one side as they grab a drink between matches. They’re playing this afternoon, so they’re spending their morning alternating between keeping their bodies warmed up and obsessively scouting potential competition.

And complaining, for Oikawa. But Oikawa wouldn’t be Oikawa without something to be miffed about.

“So? I’ve never been an attention-grabber like you.” 

Luckily, too - their friendship would have been doomed from the start, if it had been so. Oikawa Tooru doesn’t much like sharing the spotlight, always having to play the leading role. Hajime suspects _that’s_ what this is really about - Ushijima is a threat to his own notoriety.

“But _you’re_ my Ace,” is what Oikawa says, and it surprises Iwaizumi, causes his eyes to cut to the side and re-examine the expression on Oikawa’s face, how even the way he has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket looks huffy.

He should have known better than to think this was _all_ about Oikawa (though it definitely still is a little).

After all, they got here _together._

Hajime smiles.

“I still am,” he says nonchalantly, turning to face forward even as he nudges Oikawa’s shoulder with his own. “You don’t need to worry about me - I’ve never been the flashy kind of Ace, but I still have pride in it.”

He’s the one wearing the #4 jersey in this competition, after all. Ushijima can loom and impress and inspire awe all he wants - Hajime won’t give it up just yet.

Later that day, under the high, blinding lights of the stadium and at the most crucial point of the game, Oikawa’s eyes meet his from across the court and in that split-second, they share a grin.

Geniuses will come and go. They won’t be on the same team forever. There will be a time when Oikawa goes on without him. 

But for now, this fact remains:

When it counts, Oikawa will _always_ send the ball to Iwaizumi.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Their opponents in the second round gave an incredible performance in their first game, so much so that Iwaizumi can feel the intensity coming from Ushijima in waves as they get ready to face off with them. From the way the other guys in their rotation keep casting him looks, they can feel it, too.

Ushijima’s jump serve isn’t quite completed yet, because that would just be unfair. If Hajime is being objective (and he’s loathe to praise him too much), it doesn’t hold a candle to Oikawa’s. He can tell that Oikawa’s power and accuracy inspires awe from the packed spectator seating, knows the commentators likely discuss it enthusiastically at every chance they get. Pictures of him spinning the ball in front of his chest in concentration, rocking back on his heel to toss the ball up, launching up to smack the ball hanging above him will be in the next issue of Volleyball Monthly, if not more publications. Universities will eat it up, and offers will come pouring in for that serve (and its still unspent potential) alone.

But when Ushijima steps up to take his first serve of the game, all of his pent up energy is seemingly directed right into the ball judging from the way it slams down _hard_ behind the back line. The collision makes a nasty sound that booms in their half of the cavernous room before flying behind the barricade with a fury that makes the audience _gasp_. The ground seems to tremble as Ushijima’s heavy weight lands back onto the floor with the thud-squeak of his volleyball shoes, seemingly unaffected.

His eyes are dark and sharp, fixed somewhere through the net. Iwaizumi feels tense all of a sudden, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the point added to the scoreboard for the other team from the miss.

  
  
  


The gym is a cacophony of sound. Though the spectators try their best to keep quiet, the match is an exciting one, and they can’t help but let some of their exclamations escape. They mix in with the thud-slide-boom-squeak of shoes and volleyballs against the surface of the court, the referee’s whistles, the hum of the lights and the audio equipment and cameras used to broadcast the games. 

Oikawa tosses the ball to Ushijima and Iwaizumi watches through the sweat pouring from his hairline as Ushijima leaps into the air, body set in the most perfect spiking pose. For all his talk about Oikawa gracing the pages of a magazine, this image is so striking that Iwaizumi is more than confident this will make it in there, too.

It’s almost in slow motion, the way the monster first year pulls his left arm back and whips it forward to slam against the ball at the apex of the toss.

Hajime can’t help it - he gasps as the ball blows through the block and crashes within bounds of the court. This kind of volleyball is beautiful to watch from any vantage point, but an absolute gift to watch from up close. 

The force of Ushijima’s spring upwards has him landing heavily once more, this time even more so as his body settles almost in a crouch as his legs absorb the impact.

As if sensing his gaze, olive eyes flick to Hajime and hold the contact for a few agonising seconds. The concentration, the power, the _intensity_ of that stare is too much. Hajime swallows; brushes his damp hands on the front of his shorts.

He doesn’t feel any less caught when Ushijima faces forward again, concentration back on the match like nothing happened; like nothing could shake him.

Hajime finds himself unable to look away for an extra moment, mouth dry and yearning.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


They lose their third round match and get knocked out of the competition, but that’s okay.

That probably makes Iwaizumi a bad Ace, but it’s honestly what he thinks. Making Nationals _was_ his dream, and not just because it was Oikawa’s - he genuinely wanted to make it there jimself. The difference between them is Oikawa wanted to win it _all_ , hungry for more as always, whereas Hajime is content to try his best and see how far he can go.

It’s really fine, as far as he’s concerned. He got to stand on that stage, toe to toe with the country’s best players and test his mettle. He got to wear the Ace jersey in white-and-turquoise, the iconic colours of his beloved team and school, and he got to see Oikawa prove his worth. He got to fulfil the dream he shared with his three best friends, the perfect send-off to the separation called University that looms on the horizon for them all.

He got to watch Yahaba learn what it will mean to be Captain and Setter. He got to see Kyoutani regain his fire and his respect for the team by watching them here. He saw Watari smile and rise to the challenge of receiving some of the trickiest spikes in the nation, Kunimi put forth real effort and Kindaichi gain some much-needed confidence. 

He saw the legend of Ushijima Wakatoshi begin right before his eyes, right beside him on the court. He watched him climb higher, reach greater heights. He saw a preview of just what he will achieve, both for himself and for his new school.

Even when he’s back home and in his own bed days later, he can’t stop thinking about the look in Ushijima’s eyes, the way he clicked his tongue in annoyance when the match point was called in favour of the other team, finding himself lacking. He thinks about the concentration, the intensity there, and what it would mean to be the sole focus of it.

He doesn’t sleep for hours.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

  


Things change from that point. Before all this happened, outside of the slightly-bizarre interactions he had with him, Iwaizumi didn’t really think much about Ushijima. He had other things - family, school, Oikawa and his other friends, a couple fumbling explorations out of eyesight.

Now, Ushijima is all he can think of. It doesn’t matter where he is - he can be sitting in class and gazing out the window, he can be walking home with Oikawa, eating dinner with his family, in the shower - nowhere is safe.

What’s worse is that nothing _happens_. Hajime had thought, perhaps foolishly, that Ushijima would come to him once Nationals were over, prompting him to finally make a decision whichever way. Then this torture would be over.

But he doesn’t. Infuriatingly, Ushijima keeps to his word and leaves him to decide. Giving someone space is the exact opposite of what Ushijima is and does as a human being; everything about him crowds you in - from his physicality and penchant for looming, to his overall presence, which expands beyond his body and presses at you even from across the gym, or down the corridor.

It’s not avoidance, either. Ushijima is still _there,_ in the changing room and at volleyball practices and walking out the school gates.

It irks at Hajime. Ushijima has never been so popular - evidently, articles and news footage has circled Aoba Johsai, making him a school celebrity secondary only to the king himself, Oikawa Tooru. Every time Hajime turns a corner and finds Ushijima’s unmistakable figure in his sights, there’s always an eager classmate or blushing girl around him.

Hajime’s not sure if he could get him alone even if he wanted to.

…Does he want to?

“Something’s off with you,” Hanamaki says from the other side of Iwaizumi’s desk, where he’s sitting backwards on a chair. His face is blank as it often is, but Iwaizumi knows him well enough to know he’s fishing.

Feeling twitchy, he glances first to Matsukawa, who seems to be diligently picking out all the pickles to eat first from his conbini-bought bento. Oikawa had been with them, but he’d been called into the hallway to partake in some lively conversation or other, his obnoxious laughter filtering through the doorway.

Somehow satisfied, Hajime flicks his eyes back to Hanamaki in askance, and then back down to his own 7eleven lunch.

“You’ve got something on your mind,” Hanamaki hums, drawing circles in front of Iwaizumi’s face with the soiled end of his chopsticks. “Particularly in practice, your mojo is way out. Did watching Ushijima at Nationals really do that much of a number on you?”

The way Hajime’s own chopsticks halt in his hand gives him away, but he just manages to control his expression. “How do you mean?”

“You look at him, sometimes. Not a lot, but sometimes it’s like you’ll notice him, and then get in your head about something. He doesn’t talk to you as much either - I think he’s actually getting along well enough with the other first-years to not hover so weirdly. Is it some kind of fight for the Ace number?”

He fucking _wishes_ it was something so simple.

“It’s fine,” he says, picking up a piece of garlic pork and shoving it in his mouth.

Hanamaki sighs, but doesn’t take his attention away from his sandwich; doesn’t push it further. “If you say so.”

  
  


Of course, it’s a total lie. Things aren’t _fine_ \- they’re manageable, he thinks, but it’s still annoying. That much becomes clear to him in the next couple of days. Practice is the worst, because there’s only so many things and people to act as a buffer and take his attention.

But Hajime is restless. He’s sick of this. He just wants--

He wants to figure this out. He wants to stop stressing and obsessing over it.

He wants Ushijima to _look_ at him. That intense olive stare that used to make him so uncomfortable, the prickle it would cast over his shoulders and down his spine, is now something he longs for. And Ushijima won’t do it. He won’t look.

But Hajime can make him.

He’s not one to abuse his senpai status - sure, there are uses for it and he’ll wield the meagre power it brings when it’s appropriate, but he’s the kind of person who prefers to operate under the principle of mutual respect.

Striding along the hall towards the first year classrooms at lunchtime is not something he’s even done before. There are kouhai dotted about the place and some of them stare at him - at his messy uniform, at his athlete’s frame, at his expression which Oikawa likes to scold him for because it’s _too scary, Iwa-chan._

He stops at the doorway of Ushijima’s classroom, and a nervous-looking girl with glasses turns and peers up at him, stammering as she asks if he’s okay, and what he needs.

Iwaizumi doesn’t _mean_ to ignore her per se, but his eyes have already locked on to Ushijima. In any other situation it’d be a comical scene - he’s somehow found himself amidst a huddle of other boys who have all pushed their desks together. It’s a rambunctious lunch date, with boys hooping and hollering and comparing food and reaching across each other, but Ushijima sits in the middle, prim and proper, not saying a word as he eats his lunch with his usual composure.

It should be funny, but Hajime finds himself kind of pissed off.

“Ushijima,” he calls, loud enough that it cuts through the noise, but not loud enough to be boisterous.

More than one pair of eyes swivel to his position in the doorway, but the only one that counts is that familiar shade of olive green.

Ushijima pushes away his laquered bento box and then slides his chair back.

“Senpai,” he says in acknowledgement, and a shiver runs down Iwaizumi’s spine as he watches the other stand and make his way towards him, following him to just outside the classroom.

He doesn’t stand so close that his indoor shoes bump Iwaizumi’s, and that too leaves him feeling irritated. It feels wrong for Ushijima to be so mindful of him. 

Or perhaps he doesn’t feel the same anymore?

That’s a sour taste in Hajime’s mouth.

….Embarrassingly, he doesn’t have a plan beyond this point. He’d just succumbed to the frustration prickling under his skin without much thought for what would come after.

But Hajime isn’t one to shy away from split-second decisions.

“Let’s walk home together after school, since Oikawa is busy.”

It’s frighteningly close to Ushijima’s invitation weeks ago, and Hajime thinks he might see a flicker of recognition in Ushijima’s eyes.

It’s the first test - if Ushijima has plans, or declines, then maybe it really was just a passing crush. That would be favourable, if anything - it’d take the decision out of Hajime’s hands.

Ushijima tilts his head ever so slightly to the side as he studies Iwaizumi’s face. “My feelings haven’t changed. Are you finally ready to give me your response?” he asks Iwaizumi.

In all honesty, he’s not entirely sure, but he _has_ to figure this out. So, he nods. “You’ll get your answer,” he says, despite the fact it feels like he’s losing control of his lips, his tongue. “I’ll meet you by the lockers, like last time.”

Ushijima nods, taking one last look at him, and turns to go back to his… friends? Huh.

Iwaizumi nods at nothing, spinning on his heel and storming away from the first-year classrooms and back towards the haven of his own. He only has a few hours left to think things over.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


“How can you be so sure this is what you want?” Hajime asks from his spot on the bed, still in that floaty mental space he’s occupied since Ushijima did the absolute unexpected and _confessed to him_. They hadn’t really spoken at all on their walk away from school - the only significant moment had been when Ushijima had made to head towards the station and Iwaizumi had tugged on the cuff of his school blazer, directing him without words to follow him home.

Ushijima is half turned away, observing the crammed shelves above Iwaizumi’s desk. The situation feels even more alien when he reaches up a hand, curiously poking at a bobble-head figure Hajime had gotten when he was ten and never got around to throwing away.

Olive eyes slide back to meet Iwaizumi’s. “I’m sure,” Ushijima says, turning back around fully. Even though his hands hang loosely by his sides, his perfect posture still makes it look like he’s standing at attention. “Some people think I am simple-minded because I am blunt, which is not true. I consider things carefully, though admittedly I don’t tend to linger on decisions once they’ve been made.”

That’s even worse for Hajime, to think that Ushijima has thought his feelings and intentions over thoroughly and still come to the mind-boggling decision to pursue him like this. His team-mate, his _senpai_. Another guy. With no shame or hesitation. Hajime is used to pursuing his own desires in secret, with unspoken agreements, with people far, far from his friends’ social circles – especially Oikawa’s – that Ushijima’s bravery is astounding to him.

So many reasons why this is a terrible idea buzz around his head, but as Ushijima’s heavy focus stays locked on him, memories start to push through that muted terror and confusion.

Ushijima storming towards him, practically pressing him against the wall as he cradled his sore wrist. The way he’d looked in the gymnasium, eyes and sweat shining under the bright lights. The way his still-growing frame already _looms_ , hovering too close to Hajime and yet, not close enough. 

_There’s something there,_ Hajime hears or maybe sees in his mind, _there’s something there and you know it_.

It seems Ushijima knows it too because he’s crossing the room, and even if he’s the one that’s moving it’s Hajime that feels like a moth drawn to flame.

Ushijima Wakatoshi doesn’t stop in front of him. He’s always pushing further, coming too close, and Hajime has no choice but to spread his legs further as Ushijima steps between them; fall back onto his rumpled bedsheets as Ushijima just keeps _advancing_ , knees on either side of Hajime’s thighs and sinking into the mattress with his solid weight.

“Iwaizumi,” Ushijima says, and his voice is a lot more settled into its low timbre by now. Still, he’s far from unaffected, the cadence of his breath is off-kilter and betraying his excitement as he cages Hajime in on all fours.

Iwaizumi should push him away. Say something about how he understands, but he’s not interested. Maybe even something about the good of the team and how he thinks they should concentrate on volleyball. He should tell Ushijima it’s a bad idea; that people like them shouldn’t be doing something like this with each other.

He doesn’t, though. Having Ushijima this close has always set off something within him, a reckless sense of danger and a dizzying unknown making him crave space away from this intense presence even while wanting to be consumed by it. And right now – right now, Iwaizumi feels crazy, lost, unhinged, unable to ignore his desire now that Ushijima has presented the opportunity with a distinct lack of hesitation. 

It makes him want to dive into this danger head first, so he does.

There’s no consideration for gentleness. Hajime lifts a hand to grab the back of Ushijima’s warm neck, so different from the last time he’d laid a hand there, and yanks him down into a kiss.

It’s clear to see that Ushijima is a little blindsided - his lips are slack against Hajime’s own until he uses his burgeoning strength to pull back from him altogether. Iwaizumi’s hand drops to the bedsheets with nothing more than a soft rustle of fabric. His lips are wet and yet again he’s trapped in that terrifying, arresting gaze.

“Am I to assume this is you accepting my feelings?”

He doesn’t know. God, Hajime _doesn’t fucking know_ . The only thing he is sure of right now is that for some reason, Ushijima Wakatoshi has set his sights on _him_ and it excites him like nothing else.

He says nothing, and Ushijima watches him for only a moment before his eyes flick lower, and Iwaizumi swears he can feel the gaze on his mouth just as well as he can feel the other boy’s breath ghost across it.

It’s fascinating, the moment Ushijima’s seemingly-innate composure cracks. It’s a shade of that frightening intensity Hajime has caught glimpses of on the court, and yet entirely different because never once has _he_ been the sole focus of it like this. He is now though, that olive stare casting a spotlight over him lying rumpled, terrified and excited on his childhood bed. In fact, he’s gone so long without Ushijima’s attention on him that he feels a little starved for it.

Hajime spends half a moment to once again try to work out what it is that Ushijima sees when he looks at him. All too soon the younger boy lunges down to kiss him, wiping all coherent thought from his mind.

There’s a distinct lack of finesse that likely comes from not being very experienced, but what Ushijima doesn’t have in skill (and isn’t _that_ a strange concept) he makes up for in enthusiasm. 

Kissing Ushijima, Hajime realises in a half-cooked thought, is a lot like playing volleyball with him. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, or watching waves crash against a sea wall, or succumbing to gravity itself. He pulls you into his orbit with intensity alone, making you succumb to his flow. It’s like drowning, and Hajime feels himself getting pulled under by the way Ushijima commandeers his mouth like he _needs_ this, until the moment his limbs start to work again and he raises his hands to either side of Ushijima’s jaw to finally take something back.

He’s startled to find that the flesh of the younger’s cheeks under his fingertips is softer than it looks and also fiery hot, giving away the deep flush of excitement matched by his breaths. With a gasp Iwaizumi pulls back - but only to give himself the space to tilt his head to create a better angle, not hesitating to adjust Ushijima with his hold too before diving back in.

It’s messy and uncoordinated - mostly from Ushijima’s startling eagerness, but Hajime can admit he’s a little blindsided by his own excitement, too.

“Wait, wait,” he says in a rush, heat swooping low in his stomach and catching him by surprise, forcing him to pull away.

He’s a teenage boy, no stranger to a little making out, and yet… That heat only curls in on itself and makes a home inside of him, refusing to be abated. Hajime’s panting and so is Ushijima, still staring down at Hajime’s mouth like he’s had nowhere near his fill.

The cool air of the room and Ushijima’s warm breath mix as they hit the wet skin all around Hajime’s mouth, leaving him feeling sticky and exposed in his own bedroom. Finally, _finally_ , Ushijima sets those eyes back on his and Iwaizumi swallows, blinking as if that’ll clear his mind and help him recall the reason he’d stopped in the first place.

There’s something beautiful and bizarre about the way the younger boy looks, flushed and panting as he hangs over Iwaizumi. He’s so large, literally with his bulky frame but also in his presence, but here he looks his age, reckless with impulse and arousal and it’s in this moment the low heat in Hajime’s belly catches ablaze.

“Slow,” he breathes, thinking that he’s probably the worst person in the world for being so turned on by his kouhai even as he resolves to make the most of it for however long it lasts. 

Maybe at some point in the future, whether that be near or far, Ushijima will realize just who he is - the power he has - and turn his eyes to something better. But right now, he’s hopelessly turned on and completely at Hajime’s mercy.

“It’s good,” he praises, pushing one hand back to rake through perfect hair, just very slightly dampening with sweat now. Hajime wants to _mess him up._ “But slower, use your tongue.”

And he shows him how, straining up and tilting to the right again, mouth opening to capture Ushijima’s bottom lip between his own, sucking for the barest of seconds before sweeping over the flesh with his tongue, sliding through the parting between his lips and into the soft wet of Ushijima Wakatoshi’s mouth.

The mattress creaks as Ushijima shoves his hands further into it, bearing more of his weight as he makes the most _obscene_ noise low in his throat. Naturally he rises to the challenge not a second later, Hajime feeling the slick wet of Ushijima’s tongue brush against his own. And it’s _so_ good.

His body lists to one side as Ushijima readjusts again, this time pulling one of his hands back so that it can clumsily paw at Hajime’s side, wanting but clearly unsure where to settle until Hajime takes pity on him, using his own to guide it to his hip. Without looking he stretches his thumb, using it to blindly guide Ushijima’s until it’s under his shirt, touching skin. 

Ushijima likes that. He squeezes and Hajime gasps, bucking a little before Ushijima _sucks_ on his tongue to make Hajime freeze and then fall back against the sheets with a whimper. He’s followed, relentlessly, without mercy, and now that Ushijima has gotten a taste for kissing it seems he has no desire whatsoever to stop.

The other spiker’s hand is a brand on his hip, and it only fuels Hajime to do his best to return Ushijima’s intensity in kind, minding the depraved messiness of the way their tongues slide and lick against lips, gums and each other a lot less than he thought he would.

It’s well overdue when they finally break apart, both of them gasping out sticky breaths that mingle in the close space between as they stare at each other.

Hajime is _painfully_ hard but he’s mindful of what he’s doing and who with - there’s no need to take it so far this time. Instead, he presses a shaking hand back to Ushijima’s burning cheek. There’s a sweetness there, a vulnerability, that Hajime had never once thought could be possible in the other boy but it makes sense; fits him well.

Fondness crashes through him in a wave, and that’s enough to put a stopper on his arousal for now. Ushijima, for as unintentionally brash and intimidating he can be, deserves mindful tenderness.

What he’s seen in the past few months tells Iwaizumi that Ushijima isn’t cold, cruel nor uncaring, he just isn’t a natural when it comes to people; he finds it hard to cover the distance. It’s a precious thing, to be in the other’s sights - for whatever reason it might be. Hajime will accept the gift knowing well the weight of the trust being handed to him.

“I accept,” he says out loud for Ushijima, whose olive eyes sparkle with soft joy, the emotion mirrored in the small, sweet smile curling at his lips.

“You will not regret it,” is the promise made in response.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Iwaizumi curses as he hurriedly navigates his way through the smattering of people in front of the building. The cool air of the A/C is a blessing as he crosses the threshold, even if it does throw every drop of sweat at his hairline and the back of his neck from his rushing in the summer heat into stark recognition as he hurries across the lobby. He’s running late, but if he’s quick enough it might not matter.

He skids to a stop at the doors to spectator seating, taking a breath before pulling the door open. The balcony spreads out before him, many of the seats taken already, but he sees the unmistakable jerseys and school uniforms and smiles, jogging along the back to head towards the cheer section. The kids sitting there are quiet but tense, which is a good sign that he hasn’t missed it yet.

Cutting down the aisle to the left, he sees the back of a very familiar head sitting in the front row of the section to the left of the Aoba Johsai students, the seat next to it conpicuously left open.

Hajime slides into it, and meets Oikawa’s reproachful stare with a scowl.

“Don’t even bother,” he says, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and earning a disgusted look in return.

Oikawa reaches into his back and pulls out a handkerchief. “Don’t be so disgusting, Iwa-chan,” he scolds, before he turns his gaze back down to the court, and the door set below the balcony opposite. “Any second now.”

There’s just enough time to wipe himself down and steal a drink from Oikawa’s chilled water bottle before the door opens and the section beside them _roars._

Hajime rocks forward into a half-crouch, fingers wrapped around the railing in front of him, barely aware of Oikawa doing the same.

The white-and-turquoise of the Aoba Johsai volleyball team emerges from the doorway, an imposing figure leading them.

To think Iwaizumi had been worried about protecting the Ace’s jersey from him.

Ushijima looks so much better in the Captain’s jersey.

The cheer section beside them are in a frenzy, and Iwaizumi’s heart stutters in his chest as he watches his old team - mostly made up of kouhai he doesn’t know by now - enter the stage of the August Interhigh with the air of champions already. They aren’t, but they soon could be.

Suddenly going to school down in Tokyo is worth it, just to be here for this.

“Shit, look at them,” he says to Oikawa, glancing over at him a second later, knowing that his friend is even busier than he is, and still made the time to come and watch today.

Oikawa drags his gaze away from the sight below him to meet Hajime’s grin with his own. “I suppose I can accept the fact that Ushiwaka somehow ended up wearing _my_ jersey,” he says, pointing his nose up into the air.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. They both know that there’s no one more worthy of it.

“Do it, Ushiwaka,” Oikawa whispers, more to himself than Hajime, who hears it anyway.

It makes him smile a little softer, when he thinks about how far they’ve all come. Two and a half years is a pretty long time, after all.

As if sensing his nostalgia, the imposing Captain and Ace of Seijou turns his face up to the balcony. The school section cheers louder, but Ushijima’s eyes only stop their scan when they spot Hajime in the stands.

More than elated for the other boy in that moment, he holds his fist out over the railing with a grin.

The focus in those olive eyes is as intense as always, but even across the distance they seem to soften. Wakatoshi doesn’t smile, but he does lift his own fist in response before his attention is called away and he turns back to the team to warm up.

That’s good. That’s how it should be - this is the time to focus on the game. Hajime will have his time with him after, and whether it’s to console or to congratulate, it doesn’t really matter. Whatever the outcome, Ushijima has become the Ace he wanted to be (and then some), and Hajime is already filled with all the pride, love and respect he can hold.

**Author's Note:**

> hahahah ahahah ahhaaha ha 
> 
> [Ver's Cool Tweets](https://twitter.com/verbrennunq)


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